


Truly Beautiful

by Esin_of_Sardis



Series: Glasgow Smile [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esin_of_Sardis/pseuds/Esin_of_Sardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Emma’s first night in town, Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t just remember who he is, but the price of magic. Introduction to the AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truly Beautiful

All magic comes with a price. Rumpelstiltskin had told so many people that in so many ways. Then, when it was his turn, he failed to remember it himself.

When he asked Regina to give him comfort, it hadn’t been until later that he’d realized the price of changing such an intricate and powerful curse. The price this time? His sight.

He had his comfort. He had wealth and power. His house was large—several stories—and he owned a shop. But he couldn’t see any of it.

The cane helped. As did the girl Regina had left with him. She didn’t talk much, but she was always there to lend a hand. When she did voice a word out of necessity, her voice was rough from disuse and muffled as if she held her hands over her mouth. She was always there next to him in case he needed her. She called him “sir”; he knew her only as “Miss”.

Rumpelstiltskin woke up to darkness and the word “Emma”. He was disoriented at first, unused to the loss of his sight, before Mr. Gold took over once more. “Emma,” he repeated slowly, trying to regain his bearings without his sight. “What a lovely name.”

He stumbled a bit on the steps outside the bed and breakfast. A hand on his arm steadied him. The girl’s hand. How odd that he didn’t know her name after twenty-eight years. And who was she? Snow White? No, she was the schoolteacher. He was sure of it. Surely Regina wouldn’t go as far as to serve him herself for the sake of her own sick amusement.

They returned home slowly, the rent safe in his girl’s pocket. It was an odd feeling, to be simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar with the world. Now, more than ever, he wished this was not a land without magic. He wondered if Regina had played a hand in his punishment here. Not only was he a cripple, but a blind one. Or perhaps it was better not to see the faces of his mockers.

Just inside the door of his house, his foot caught on the rug. The cane slipped out from under him and he nearly fell, but for the soft hands that caught him. Gently they pulled him back upright. “I’m sorry, sir. I should have fixed it—”

He held up his hand to cut her off. Her voice. It was rough, torn, distorted, broken, but most certainly hers. It was impossible. Slowly, carefully, he said, “Belle?”

“Rumpelstiltskin.” It was a sigh, a breath of relief. Then she was there, up against him, her arms around him. Instinctively, he returned her embrace, letting her bury her face in his next.

“Belle,” he whispered again. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not quite.” She drew back. “It was my curse to be here, awake, watching you never know who I was.”

“I’m here now.” Slowly, as he was still unsure where exactly she was, he brought his hand up to her face. His finger brushed against her soft skin—only to meet something rough. He paused. She froze under his touch, her breath catching in a gasp. “What is this?” he asked, furious that he couldn’t see, that he had to ask. “May I?”

She nodded under his fingers and he let his cane clatter to the floor as he brought both hands up to her face. His ankle screamed in agony, but he ignored it. She was still, barely breathing, tension coiled up within every bit of her.

In the middle of her cheek, the skin was puckered and rough. Thick thread was tightly laced like stitches through a cut that had never been removed. The skin had simply re-grown around the threads. As tenderly as he could, he traced the scar down, down until he reached the corner of her lip. She shivered beneath his touch, even more so as he traced her lips with his fingers, her warm breath uneven. Again on the other side of her mouth, his fingers found another scar, identical to the last. Hands on both side of her lips, he traced both scars up her cheeks to her ears.

“It’s known as a Glasgow smile,” she whispered. Glasgow. Was it Regina’s idea of a cruel joke? To give her scars named after his fake identity’s home?

“When?” he asked, his voice shaking against his will.

Belle’s hands came up to cover his on her face. “Soon before the curse.” The reason for her muffled voice suddenly became clear. The cuts. They must have been deep. Too deep. She would have a permanent smile etched on her face, but never be able to truly make the expression again.

He could feel tears welling in his sightless eyes. She drew away. “Don’t pity me,” she said, sternly, hurt in her tone. “I know they’re hideous. Just…”

She replaced the cane in his hands and walked away. He followed the click of her heels on wood as quickly as he could, barely catching her arm. “Belle,” he said. “Please. Look at me.”

Two clicks of her heels. Carefully, so as not to misjudge where her face was, he lifted his hand to it. Despite her wish to be left alone, she caught it and guided it to her face.

“I—” Words weren’t enough. They never would be. He set his cane aside and leaned forward until his lips brushed the scar. The torn skin and thread was rougher under his lips than it had been for his calloused fingertips. His hands dropped to hold hers as he placed a tremulous kiss to her cheek. Her hands gripped his tightly and he took it as encouragement to continue.

When he reached the corner of her mouth he gently turned her head and began from the other side, his kisses growing more daring and sensuous with each one. This time he didn’t stop at the corner of her lips, but kissed her as he had dreamed of kissing her for years upon years. Her breath caught and her lips moved against his the best they could. Some would say it was weak, sloppy, one-sided, but not to Rumpelstiltskin. She was kissing him with all she was able to give and it was more than enough.

They pulled back for air. He rested his cheek against hers, the scars against him a testament to her bravery rather than a mark of shame. “You are beautiful,” he whispered into her ear. “Truly beautiful.”


End file.
